She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. ‘Would that your mistress were as trusting. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart.
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